


The Pilgrimage

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Maglor [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:04:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blood flows thicker than all, or does it? From the hallowed halls of Tanequetil across the sea, Finarfin journeys to aid the cause of the Exiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pilgrimage

It had been sibling rivalry in the beginning. Fëanáro’s fondness for Nolofinwë had irked me badly. I wanted to drive a wedge between them. I had been almost successful in the polarization of our people when I received the news from Nerdanel that my brothers were lovers. 

It had been jealousy, hatred and vengeance. I knew that I could never come between them. I knew that both of them would love each other infinitely more than they would ever love me. 

I sighed as I rose from my lonely bed and raked a hand through my unruly hair. Sleepless nights; my inheritance after deserting them on the Ice…and a sea of guilt. My sword was stained by kin-blood. But I had been forgiven by Manwë. I had been made the King of this city. It was after that I realized the depths of my inability to rule.

The golden sunrays that swept into my chamber reminded me of my daughter’s tresses. She had been the closest to me. And even she had chosen to follow her uncles into the unforeseen.

I could still remember her fair features set in a grim mask as she made her farewell, her words being misted by the cold winds.

That was the last glimpse of her I had. Of her slender frame bravely plodding beside her cousins, of the golden head raised high and proud, of the clear voice exhorting her people not to despair...

What did I gain? A city to rule? The forgiveness of the Valar? My father’s legacy? All that seemed mere nothings in the face of what I have lost; my family.

Each death was announced by Manwë, along with dire reminders of what awaited the souls in Mandos. I grieved for Fëanáro, for I was wracked with guilt. What if my actions had driven him across the edge? I grieved for Nolofinwë, for my nephews, for my sons, for Irissë as I heard the tidings each time in Manwë’s cold voice.

When I heard of Findaráto’s death, I had turned a shadow of myself. I could not even bring myself to shed a tear. I had embraced resignation. There was nothing I could do. I did not have my brothers’ courage. I did not even dare to approach Varda and beg for pardon.

 

“MY LORD!” an aide came rushing in. “A grandson of Prince Turkáno has come! He takes counsel with the Valar!”

Thus was announced the arrival of Ëarendil, The Mariner. Things moved swiftly. The Valar had apparently decided that there were no more scions of my family that could still defy them. Manwë wished to bring the three surviving grandchildren of Finwë to Valinor and judge them. 

Artanis had married and was now confined to home and hearth. Maitimo was insane. Macalaurë was too cynical to think of reckless defiance of the Valar. Ereinion was still young and probably believed that the Valar would pardon our family.

As the ships prepared to sail, I grit my teeth and looked west towards the Halls of Mandos. Manwë had said that there would be a judgment only after all the rebels had met their deaths or surrendered.

“It is not a fair place.” Varda’s voice was pensive as she joined me on the deck. “I hope that they will repent.”

“They will not repent, any of them,” I stated flatly as I wrung my hands convulsively. There was no more chance for the dead. I had vowed to bring back those were still alive; my nephews and my daughter. 

“Pride will ever be the undoing of your family,” she spoke sadly. “Reckless deaths of so many brilliant stars. And condemned to the eternal dark.”

I knew that pride would not be my undoing. I knelt before her and looked up at the shining countenance.

My throat constricted and my eyes blinked back tears as I spoke brokenly. “Anything I will suffer, Varda, if only you save them from the void. Anything.”

She shook her head in pity and averted her eyes. I grit my teeth again and vowed to bring back my remaining kin. That would be the purpose of my pilgrimage to the lands from where my father had come.

 

“I cannot say where they are now.” Cìrdan said apologetically, his eyes shining in grief, “Maitimo was broken; it is Macalaurë who must be leading them now.”

“I wish to find them, please,” I said imploringly, looking at the other occupant of the chamber.

The Seneschal of the Sindar sighed and began to pace saying, “Reports speak of them staying away from the fighting. As Cìrdan says, Lord Maedhros has not been in the best of health recently. I believe they must have taken shelter in the woods.”His green eyes met mine uncertainly before he continued. “They returned the twins to us. That means that their situation must be deteriorating. Earlier this year, Lord Maedhros sent the remaining warriors to aid Gil-Galad. So they are alone.”

“And my daughter, Oropher?” I asked wistfully. I knew, I had known from the moment that I had stepped down from the ship. She had not been there to receive me. 

Oropher and Cìrdan exchanged an uneasy glance before Cìrdan spoke. “She is in Lindon. I do not think that she will come to Mithlond until the war is over.”

I opened my mouth to speak again, but Oropher said kindly, his eyes filled with pity, “No, My Lord. She will not see you.”

 

 

“Lord Arafinwë.” Elros Tar-Minyatur was a powerful man even in those days when he had been fighting beside us in the battle. 

I fought back the reflexive gasp as I saw his features in the candle-light. Turgon’s great-grandson indeed.

“I wish to find my nephews, Lord Elros,” I said quietly as I rose to greet him. “I need to find them.”

“They are changed.” Elros spoke hesitantly. “I do not think that they will meet you.”

Ereinion had told me that only Elros knew of the possible location of my nephews. I had to find them. I knew that I could not persuade my daughter to come with me. From what I heard from those around me, she hated me more than she hated Morgoth himself. I could only hope that my nephews would listen to me. Perhaps, Maitimo could persuade my daughter.

“I must meet them.” How pathetically desperate my voice was at that moment!

Elros looked down at his boots uncomfortably, his mind weighing his options. Finally, he raised his head and met my imploring gaze.

“I will tell you where to find them. But you must know that they are changed. All that they have now is their isolation and pride. Do not take away that too from them,” he ground out angrily.

 

 

I have never been fond of climbing hills and walking in the woods. As I trudged through the trees, my heartbeat loud even to my poorly trained ears, I began to be frightened. Alone in these woods where I did not even know what creatures lurked. I have always been a coward and this trudge was not helping my courage at all. Not for the first time, I wondered how one born into such a valiant family could be as ordinary and cowardly as I am.

I had come barefoot since Elros had warned me not to give away my position to the predatory creatures and immoral men who lurked in the forests. My feet, so accustomed to soft silks and rich carpets, were now breaking as I stumbled clumsily over rocks and tree roots. My breath came in heaving pants and I was chilled to the bone. As I rested against the bole of a tree, I shuddered at the bloody welts and bruises on my feet and arms. I could not imagine my cultured, dignified, elegant nephews living in such conditions.

“Ah, what have we here, a lonely elf?” A greedy voice spoke in broken Sindarin.

I had never been gladder that I knew the rudiments of the language. But as I opened my mouth to request aid from the extremely smelly man who stood before me, he laughed and whistled. A scraggly boy, barely of age, emerged from the thicket, carrying a torn sack. His eyes widened as he saw me. I am sure that I must have looked a sight in my sweat drenched tunic, my hair all askew and my feet bleeding and swollen.

“Thedo, his hair alone will get us its weight in gold!” the man exclaimed as he pointed at my locks flying in the cold wind.

The man moved towards me, a sneer on his features as he took in my bewildered expression. When he was but a feet from me, my instincts rose and I unsheathed my sword. I had always assumed men to be helpful and comradely. The only men I knew were those fighting under Elros and I had an excellent opinion of them. But now I realized that all men were not the same.

He snarled and leapt onto my slender form, his features contorted by greed and wrath. I caught him neatly on my first stroke and watched in horror as my sword emerged from the other side of the body. The sagging weight of the man’s corpse and the stench of blood made me almost faint. I was about to push him off when cold steel kissed my throat. I looked up to see the lad holding a crudely wrought blade against my neck. 

“What goes on here?” A melodious voice that still lingered in the pathways of my happier memories asked harshly. There was no trace of the warmth and gentleness that once had been there.

The lad scampered off and a boot came into my limited view. 

“Bloody Sindar! Can’t save their own necks!” he exclaimed in disgust as he shoved off the body from me with his boot. A skeletal hand pulled me up.

I faced him utterly lost for words. His stern, austere, yet painfully handsome features were stamped with shock as he recognized me. I reached to grip his shoulder. But he stepped back instinctively, his lips parted.

“Macalaurë.” I greedily took in the features that so resembled his father’s.

“Have I finally gone mad?” he whispered as he turned away and began striding into the darkness of the woods.

“NO!” I caught up with him and gripped his hand. “I came to fetch you back. Please, I am sorry for having deserted you then.” My words were rushed and wild. “Take me to your brother, I beg you.”

He did not reply, though I could see his fears in those black eyes. He still believed that I was a product of his mad imagination. I gulped as I took in the sight of him, tattered cloak, worn-out boots and unkempt hair. There was a savagery about his person that spoke of years spent in the wild. The once slender musician’s fingers were calloused and bony.

“Artanis refused to see me. I came to fight Morgoth. I have seen your foster-sons. Elros told me where to find you.” I tried to assure him that I was real.

He nodded briskly and pulled me into a small clearing. I gasped as I saw Maitimo. He was sitting under a tree, his features flushed with fever. He was staring at the small fire that was lit in the middle of the clearing, his grey eyes dark with brooding. I had heard of his travails on the Thangorodrim. But to see the maimed arm which was barely concealed by his tattered garments made me swallow.

He looked up as we walked towards him. For a moment, his eyes closed and his body began trembling. Macalaurë threw more sticks on the fire and then removed his cloak. I was sick with shame for my desertion as I watched him tenderly draping the cloak about his brother. 

Maitimo nodded to his brother gratefully and then met my gaze. He sighed and held out his left hand. I bit down on my inner cheeks to prevent the words that threatened to escape me. I gripped his hand in both of mine and knelt beside him. Elros and Oropher had been right. There was insanity lurking in his once warm, serene eyes.

He smiled serenely. “And so my life is certainly coming to its wretched end, is it not? I am glad that I could see you, uncle. Whatever you wish to believe of us, please do be assured that all of us were often comforted by that at least you had escaped the doom of the Broidress.”

I knew that it was over. He was dying before my eyes. I held back my tears and gripped his shoulders tighter. “Come with me, Maitimo. Come with me. Varda will save us.”

He shook his head wearily and leant back. Macalaurë came to press a cup of broth into my hands.

“I had never thought that I would be cooking for you.” His voice had the faintest trace of ironical amusement. 

“I had never thought that I would be honoured to sample any.” I smiled wanly as I sat down beside Maitimo and looked up at Macalaurë pensively.

I did notice that there was no more. He had probably made it from the remnants of their stores. I flinched as I thought of the poverty of the true scions of the royal house. Thinking of all my silks and extravagant dishes of Tirion made me nauseous.

“He is an excellent cook,” Maitimo murmured with pride, “though I would never advise his rabbit stews.”

How many times had I heard the same pride in his voice when he was speaking of his brother’s musical acumen? The broth scalded my throat as I swallowed it. If it had been any other, I would have offered to share it with them. But I knew their pride. And I remained tactfully silent.

“It is all not so bad, you know,” Maitimo whispered as his eyes slid shut wearily. “There were good times, times of rejoicing and love, of feasts and dances. We missed you then.”

I could no longer hold back my tears. I placed the bowl on the ground and my fingers covered my face. I could hear Macalaurë clearing his throat and then a strong pair of arms helped me up. I embraced him with a fire that I had never felt before in me. The fire that had been renowned in my family. Who would have thought that guilt and regret would light it in me?

Macalaurë returned my embrace; I could hear the frantic beating of his heart as I gripped him. They would not let the oath die, I knew immediately.

“Come with me, I shall wait,” I whispered. “He needs rest. He is dying.”

“He once told me that it was his will to die in these lands, where all the rest of us have fallen.” Macalaurë shook his head. “I will not aid you to drag him across the sea. He dies here, with what is left of his sanity and pride. I will make my way across the sea and be judged, after Artanis chooses her fate.”

“Choosing her fate?” The words seemed ominous to me. I pulled back and looked into his shadowed eyes.

“She has changed, uncle. All of us have.” There was pride and regret in the golden voice as he led me back to the path downhill.

 

 

“You saw them.” It was a plain statement. I glanced up to see a curious pair of sapphire eyes looking down at me.

“Celeborn of Doriath, your daughter’s husband.” He smiled as he introduced himself.

For a moment, I felt jealousy rise in me. She had abandoned me for a prince of the Sindar. I had written to her. But a single line had constituted her reply.

“Cowards deserve nothing.”

“She will not see you,” he leant across the desk earnestly, “I have begged her to no avail. But I promise you that I will bring her back safely to your lands. She will not die here.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” I said shakily.

 

 

“I could tell you of those happy times…” The woman began cautiously as we stood on the deck side-by-side.“They were proud and valiant. Their splendor was surpassed by none on both the sides of the sea. They were united, as had never happened in the days before Finwë’s death.”

“Why then would you absolve your vows?” I asked Macalaurë’s wife sadly. “He did promise to sail. You could have waited for him.”

“I did; many long centuries.” She smiled as she watched the gulls soar above us. “Then I realized the simple fact that those of the House of Finwë would always love their own blood and flesh above the rest. We have made our peace. Cìrdan will watch over our children.”

“I achieved nothing. I had come to bring them back. I had hoped to bring them to Aman and save them from judgment,” I stated bitterly as I clenched my fingers over the ropes I was holding onto.

“You came. That alone will comfort them till the end. You tried. That will fill them with hope that all is not lost. You grieve for them. That will mean everything.”

 

I remained standing on the deck long after she had retired. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I recounted all that I had lost. 

Maybe my daughter was right, cowards deserve nothing.

As the sun rose in the east, I swore an oath. I would save them from the Void, at whatever cost. 

For my pilgrimage had taught me one thing, blood shall ever flow thicker than all.


End file.
